


moonflower

by weird_bird (2weird4)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Ice Play, PWP, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9905297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2weird4/pseuds/weird_bird
Summary: Cold clenched between her teeth, she kisses him again. Her arms twine around his neck, and the melt runs down their chins.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings** for bdsm overtones, deadname/potential other dysphoria triggers.

Stirred by the city’s ragged breaths through the open window, the curtains whisper gentler things than Selina ever could.

Luckily for her, gentle isn’t something he ever wants, though sometimes she questions whether it’s what he needs under it all.

Under the kevlar, under the leather and susurrus of stubble on that jaw that could cut diamond, cuts her so deep to see against the night and be unable to kiss.

Tonight, he’s in reach.

Perched on the sill, less like a vampire entreating for entrance and more like Peter Pan had he acquired a penchant for looming, he’d tapped the glass until she’d startled awake from a heat-fitful sleep to let him inside her apartment.

Like Peter Pan. A lost boy. A boy.

Selina knows the ways she has suffered are not the only ways someone can suffer, that his pain bares as many teeth as hers, but that doesn’t mean he’s _grown up._

There’s still something of the child in how he turns his big face into her hand. Nuzzles her there so she can steal his exhale in her palm.

It’s so sweltering, even his broad chest’s rising and falling seems hampered. Sweat plasters her top to her skin, sagging neckline exposing the tops of her breasts to his hands.

Or–ah, better, his _mouth._ He does have to have good ideas sometimes, even if it’s not as often as he thinks.

Wind-chapped lips parting, tongue sneaking salt off the curves of her, up-down as she pants.

His callused hand, sandpapery as if he never took off his glove, peeling under her top and walking a sticky path up to cup her breast.

Selina sits back on her haunches and strips off his shirt, guides his head down and holds him down, nails scraping his scalp under thick hair. Coos something to him, something she won’t remember later.

What this is about is two people always under their own command parceling out little pieces of control to each other.

He sucks at her nipple, other hand lifting up with force between her splayed thighs. She feels herself pulse at the pressure, slick behind her panties.

It’s humid in her apartment and getting worse.

“Wait here.”

He startles visibly as her words tear the gauze pleasure has woven around them. Just as quickly, he hides it and gives her a stiff nod.

She returns with two very chilly handfuls. Drops the ice cubes in the space between his legs, watches his thick scarred thighs twitch apart, feet planting on the bed to push himself away from the freezing wet.

Smirking, Selina gives chase, fingers curling into his thighs and gauging long pink scratches in his fine Gotham white.

Bette Wayne is dead; Batman takes the night.

He grunts, which she feels physically as she curves to his chest and bites his jaw. Taking his earlobe between her teeth, she releases it, kisses up the shell. And then the closest to a caress: his other name in his ear. She doesn’t even know who else knows it. 

“Bruce,” she says, and he comes alive against her.

His hand grabs at the small of her back. Turning his head, he kisses her, pulls at her mouth. Up close his lashes are a dream of darkness.

She stamps her mouth against his cheekbone and then scoops up a shard of ice.

Cold clenched between her teeth, she kisses him again. Her arms twine around his neck, and the melt runs down their chins.

Selina’s palms come up as if to warm but there’s ice in them too and he shudders, shudders for her as she mouths his stony throat and traces the swift-vanishing ice after the trails of his perspiration.

Clawing down his chest, she draws patterns over the flush with the ice too. At her back, Bruce’s hand makes a fist.

All her favorite toys are fun with him. Watching his biceps strain against intricate knots, his plush lips stretch around a ball gag, his back welt under her crop.

And then there are nights where all she needs is a handful of frozen water to get what she wants out of him.

Next she takes a tiny piece and rounds it out around his nipple.

Bruce tenses.

Slow going, then. They have safe words, but he hates using them, so she’ll have to keep an eye out for signs instead.

The ice between her fingers taps along evidence of fights won and lost. Tucks around a pectoral and under...

Almost violently, he stiffens.

Mm. Bruce has more interesting scars.

Placing the last of the ice on his thigh, Selina situates herself between his legs again to kiss him, stroking his hair with damp, numb fingers and just-–holding him a little.

There’s a lot of him to hold, and she _likes_ it, even if she tells herself it’s only because he never lets her do it.

Seizing her, sudden, he throws her back on the sheets.

She recovers fast. Hooks her legs high around his ribs. Nails at his nape, teeth at his jaw again.

Bruce looks at her then, just _looks,_ and maybe he’s looking through her, to every floor below her to something only the goddamn Batman could bring to light, but it’s sexy anyway. 

How sharp his eyes. How clear.

She can’t say that she doesn’t want to collar him and keep him. Who wouldn’t want to keep such a sleek and domesticated thing pretending to be so feral?

For now, she settles for opening her thighs and pushing his head between them.

His tongue slides _in_ and she can see his hand dive to the tangle of wiry black between his own legs. As he goes down on her, he works himself _hard._

“You’re doing so well.” She scratches the circumference of his ear. Honeys her voice. “But you could do better.”

His shoulder spasms against her, and she doesn’t know if the furrow between his brows is annoyance or arousal.

He redoubles his efforts, so she’ll take it.

He's rooting around with the other hand. What he’s doing becomes clear when he scatters the last of the ice on her chest.

Sucking in a gasp, Selina screws against her eyes against the pinpricks.

Fair play.

Rivulets run down her ribs. When water snakes down her abdomen, Bruce stops it short with the flat of his tongue before it can fjord her hipbones.

“You’ll pay for that later,” she warns lazily, and his eyes crinkle.

At last he buries her face in her again with all that determination that makes him who he is, damn everything he should be.

If it’s fondness that makes her rub her knuckles over his pulse, neither of them mention it.

 

She wakes two mornings down to a scent crisp like cologne, yet not quite enough to be him.

Kitten furring her ankle, she hunts its source.

They’ll have to talk one day about his uninvited inroads into her sanctuary. With the life she has led, it’s inadmissible as routine.

On the kitchen counter, a plant with puckered, heart-shaped leaves dips its head in reserved greeting. Its few flowers, too, are tight-mouthed, spiraling buds like a dancer’s long skirts, giving away nothing.

In the soil, she finds folded cardstock. Fastidious script in fine black ink:

Ipomoea alba.

_Blooms at night. - B_

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [my new tumblr!](http://2-weird-4.tumblr.com/)


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